And on the seventh day...

And on the seventh day...

Sorry there was no blog posted on Thursday, but, frankly, we had had just about enough and could not bring ourselves to relive it via the written word.

We got up on Thursday morning and were marshalled to buses which would take us to the Palace at Knossos. I was, personally, looking forward to seeing this, as this is something I always used to teach: the story of Theseus and the Minotaur and Ariadne... Catullus 64 is such a favorite of mine. So, excited to see this mythic complex, reconstructed as it was, I boarded bus number 5, ready for anything. We drove a very short distance with all the other "English Speaking Passengers Traveling Individually" being led by a guide called 'Katarina.' She was a sight to behold, to be sure. She was a vision in brown... a belly shirt which revealed an ample belly, and sultan pants, think Units, circa 1988. She began giving us background to Crete, the population, the geography, you know, the regular run-down we had been getting from the other local guides. Then, I closed my eyes and just kind of nodded off. She had one of those voices which didn't really engage the listener nor did it inspire one to take notice.

We arrived at the archaeological site within minutes, leaving the bus to enter the exhibition. All assembled, Maureen and I both turned out backs for a split second, (ok, more like 35 seconds) to snap a picture, and POOF! The guide and the ENTIRE group had disappeared. Like Brigadoon, they were a mere figment of our collective memory. We took off after them, or at least after where we imagined they MAY have gone. Nothing. We followed the paths through the palace complex, searching high and low. No sign of them. So, we kind of gave up looking and instead walked through, snapping pictures and imagining what the different things might be that we were seeing. The worst part was that we had paid 65 Euros each for the pleasure and privilege of being left behind and depreived of the tour. This was just the last straw. To say that we were (and, truth be told, still are) bitter is an extreme understatement,

We returned to the ship and began the journey to Santorini. This took about 4 hours, give or take. In the interim, Maureen worked out and I began the packing process, since Thursday was, effectively, the last day of our cruise on the Cristal. At 3:45, the Louis Cristal pulled in to the waters in front of Santorini. We disembarked on tenders, which docked up against the Cristal, which was not stopping because there was not a place to drop anchor (think mid-air refueling style). It was harrowing and not something I am looking forward to repeating any time soon. Upon arriving ashore, we took a cable car straight up to the top of a cliff where we found a very picturesque little resort village, a little like San Marino in the kitch factor. We had a latte in a cafe overlooking the caldera of the volcano, and then, as quickly as arrived, we departed.

Dinner in the main dining room was, communal, as always, but we were permitted to order from a menu tonight. I ordered the entrecote and Maureen had the perch. On the menu, it clearly stated that my meat would be "grilled to your liking." I ordered and when I was not asked how I wanted my steak done, I asked Maureen to mention to the guy taking the order that I wanted it 'rare.' He stated very quickly, 'it comes all the same. Is like a roast.' Hmmmm.... entrecote is a steak, not a roast. So, a moment later, he came back and asked me again how I wanted my meat cooked, apparently, he had never been told how to cook a steak before, and he didn't know what an entrecote was. Nice. Soon, our meals arrived, and along with my meat came a knife.... a butter knife. I was not able to saw my way through more than half of the meat on my plate. When he came to collect my plate, he was appalled that I had left so much. "What? Is no good?" "It was fine. I just couldn't hack through it with the knife you left. Had you been by to check on us, you would have known that." He just ignored my snark, took my plate and skulked off to the kitchen. Whatever. Again, it was simply the icing on the cake.

After dinner, we headed to our favorite seat in the Rendezvous Lounge for one last night of hits. The hits were less inspired than usual. The bloom was clearly off the rose and we were thoroughly disillusioned. We ordered the banana mocha latte, as we had done each and every night of the cruise. It came, not as a mocha, but sans chocolate. Yuck. I was just too tired to argue. Maureen, however, was not. "I'm sick of being treated like this." And she marched the coffees back to the bar. Shortly, they came back right. But, we were done.

We went down to our cabin at about 11, ready to sack out, because we had decided to get up before 5 to work out early. This was essential, since we had to vacate the cabin no later than 7 AM. We came down to the floor only to find scads of teens congregating in the hall. We gave them a few minutes and then turned out the light, hoping they would simmer down. They didn't. I opened the door, and announced in my loudest, bitchiest voice, "Ok ladies, let's take it into our rooms and turn out the lights. We all have to be up early tomorrow." They turned, ostensibly to disperse. Boy, was I wrong. The phone rang about 20 minutes later, about 10 minutes after I had finally drifted off to sleep. "You called for a wake-up call?" The heavily accented front desk worker was asking. "No!" I hung up abruptly. About 5 minutes later, the phone rang again. "You call for wake-up call?" "NO!" Slamming down the receiver. This scenario played out 3 more times before I threatened: "I am not calling for a wake-up call. If youcall one more time, I am coming up there!" That was it. No more calls. But, the damage was done. I never did get completely back to sleep.

We did get up early, get our work out done and checked out from the M/V Louis Cristal in record time. When we met Elizabeth, the cruise director (think Dawn French with 80's hair), and told her the tale of our woe, from the screwed up reservations to the unruly kids, she just stared blanklt at us and offered an empty apology. We both filled in comment cards with extensive and detaoled commentary on our cruise experience. I don't expect to get a follow-up communique from the Louis Cruise Lines, but at least I feel better for having gotten it all off my chest.